


alcohol you later

by buckymorelikefuckme



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Getting Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29927514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckymorelikefuckme/pseuds/buckymorelikefuckme
Summary: You make some pretty questionable choices while drunk. But it turns out, they lead to some pretty great results.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 50





	alcohol you later

**Author's Note:**

> any mistakes are mine. xoxo

In hindsight, going out to a club on a Thursday night just because it was Ladies Night and drinks were half off may not have been the best idea. But, you know, it’d been a while since you and the girls had a night out, and also, discounted alcohol. You definitely hadn’t planned on getting absolutely trashed. 

Yet… here you are, swaying on the sidewalk, waving goodbye to your friends hanging out of the Uber as it drives off. 

“I love you!” you yell at the retreating car. 

“Tell Hot Neighbor we said hello,” Nat calls back, making your friends’ responding laughter within the car echo into the street. 

You raise your hand to flip her off with a wide smile. Then the car disappears around the corner and they’re out of sight. You stand there smiling at nothing for a few seconds, sighing deeply. As much as they give you shit about your crush on your neighbor, you know they only mean it in good fun. 

You swiftly turn around to enter your apartment building and almost tip over. 

“Whoa,” you say. You glare sternly at your feet. “Work with me here.” 

Carefully, you make your way inside, pausing in front of the stairs and blinking owlishly at them for several seconds before deciding that that might end in disaster. You stumble over to the elevators instead, smashing the button with probably too much force. The doors ding as they open and you lean heavily against the wall by the other buttons, squinting to make sure you press your floor number. So many buttons. Oh hey, that reminds you of that one song by that girl group. What are they called? Something… dolls. 

You frown in concentration and then gasp. “Pussycat!” You stifle giggles behind your hand, mumbling the word under your breath a few more times until the elevator brings you to your floor. You’re singing the song—very badly—as you make your way down the hall to your apartment. 

With a grunt, you search through your purse for your keys, huffing when all you can find are gum wrappers and your wallet. 

“Wanda,” you whisper-yell as you knock on the door. “Wanda, let me in. It’s me. Wanda… Use your super secret mind powers to open the door. Please? Wanda.”

You wait patiently for a couple minutes before giving up. You ponder what to do, wondering if you could call Natasha to come back or something, when the thought of your friend brings another idea. Her words from her departure repeat in your mind and you glance over to Hot Neighbor’s door. 

It’s honestly the worst idea. You’re wasted, yes, but even you know knocking on his door when you’re in this state would be beyond stupid. 

Before you know it, you’ve wandered over and knocked without even realizing. 

“Yoo-hoo,” you say in a high-pitched voice, still knocking, “big summer blow out.” 

You’re giggling to yourself when the door swings open. 

“Steve!” you exclaim, grinning. “My friends say hi.”

He says your name like he’s surprised to see you. “Are you drunk?” he asks after a pause.

You nod, perhaps too emphatically because you wobble. “Yup. Totally.” 

“Okay…” he replies slowly, glancing out into the hall like he’ll find answers there. You’re still beaming up at him with glassy eyes. “And you’re here because…?” 

“Can’t find my keys. Wanda won’t let me in.” You hiccup at the end of your sentence.

Steve stares for a second. “Do you want to come in?” 

“Sure,” you say with a shrug, pushing passed him. 

You kick your shoes off and drop your purse on his floor.

“Uh,” he begins, closing the door and clearing his throat. He picks up your shoes and purse, putting them out of the walkway so neither of you can trip over them. “Didn’t Wanda leave this morning to go out of town?” 

You smack your hand to your forehead. “What a dummy,” you mumble. “You’re right. I forgot. You’re so smart, Steve. Like, really smart.”

Steve fights an amused smile. “Thank you. Would you like a glass of water?” 

“I want more vodka,” you reply, wiggling your eyebrows. 

“I don’t think you need any more of that,” he advises kindly. 

You raise your hands, doing finger guns. “You got me there.” 

As you plop down on his couch, he quickly goes into his kitchen and fills a glass with water for you. He hands it over and you sip at it delicately. 

“It’s hot,” you slur, tugging at your jacket. “M’sleepy. Can I nap here?” 

“No, hey, wait,” Steve says, catching the glass of water so it doesn’t spill and stopping you from tipping over fully on the couch. “Why don’t you sleep in my bed and I’ll sleep out here?” 

You giggle. “What a gentleman. A _gent_. Are you single? Wait, don’t answer that. It’ll probably make me sad. There’s no way you’re not taken. Ugh.” 

Steve shakes his head, unable to hold back his amusement now. “Come on. Up you go, time for bed.”

He helps you stand, but you trip over your own feet as you walk toward his bedroom and land on your knees, hard. Steve bends down to you, ready to ask if you’re hurt, but you beat him to it.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” you ask in concern, looking up at Steve when you hear him huff a laugh. 

“I’m fine,” he assures. “I’m not the one who fell.” 

“Huh?” you question, scrunching your nose up in confusion. 

Steve bites back another laugh. “Never mind. C’mon.”

He helps you up and, slowly, you finish the small journey to his room. He turns the light on and tells you to make yourself comfortable. You starfish on his bed while he rummages through his dresser drawers. 

“I’ll grab you a shirt and shorts to sle—“ he chokes on his words when he turns back around and sees you in your underwear, wrestling with your bra clasp behind your back. You’ve still got your socks on and your jeans are caught on one ankle.

“Why’s it so hot?” you groan. “Steve, can you get this thing off me? It’s stuck.” 

You pout pitifully. Steve’s face is flushed adorably. He scratches at the back of his neck and avoids eye contact. 

“I don’t, uh. I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

“Please,” you whine. “I can’t sleep in my bra, it’s uncomfy.” 

He wars with himself over whether or not he should do it. You’re very drunk, and he is very sober. He doesn’t want to do anything you’d be against or potentially regret. 

“Put this shirt on, please,” he says, holding out the article of clothing to you. 

You sigh longsufferingly. The shirt ends up backwards, but it’s on, and that’s really all Steve is worried about. There’s a brief argument about you putting the shorts on, where you threaten to throw them out his window (which isn’t as threatening as you intend it to be when you’re standing on the mattress and wobbling dangerously with said shorts held out of his reach) so Steve decides to pick his battles. No shorts. 

You almost fight him on going to sleep, but once you feel how soft his pillow is you make a pleased noise and snuggle into it. 

“Do you… Do you need anything else?” 

You ponder that for a moment, humming. “Don’ think so,” you murmur as you settle further in the bed. “Thanks, Steve. You’re the best. Love you.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. He’d respond, but you’re snoring a second later. He laughs quietly, tugging the blanket up further around your shoulders. 

—

A constant throb in your head is what wakes you. You groan, rolling away from the light pouring in from the window. Which is odd, since you keep your curtains closed. And okay, what is that digging into your side? You blindly pat at your torso and blearily blink your eyes open. You blink some more when you realize it’s your bra, the straps pulled off but still clasped around your waist. Also, whose shirt is this? 

Wait. 

You sit up way too fast, clutching at your pounding skull, dread pooling in your stomach when you see that you’re definitely not in your room. Not even in your apartment. You glance back down at the shirt and stare at it, trying to figure out why it looks familiar. 

“Oh no,” you croak when it hits you. “No, no, _no_ …” 

_Please, God, if you’re listening, please say I didn’t do what I think I did._

You kick the blanket off and scramble out of the bed, narrowly avoiding face planting by tripping over your discarded jeans. Cracking open the bedroom door, you attempt to confirm your suspicions. At first you hear nothing, and a tiny bubble of hope floats through you, but then the sound of him whistling and pans knocking together reaches you and that bubble bursts. 

You curse under your breath and begin pacing. What the hell did you do? How in the world did you end up in Steve’s apartment, in his bed and wearing one of his t-shirts? He wouldn’t do anything stupid, you know that much. You, on the other hand, would definitely do—or say—something stupid. Shit. You gotta get out of here.

Your shirt and one sock are missing when you turn to look for them, so as quick as you can, you fix your bra and pull on your jeans, then tip toe out of his room. You see your purse and shoes by the front door and quietly make your way over, keeping an eye on the kitchen to make sure Steve doesn’t see you sneaking out. Because you’re so focused on that, you don’t see where the corner of his rug is curled up. Your toes catch it and you go tumbling to the floor. 

“Shit!” you hiss, rubbing at your elbow. It doesn’t set in that Steve’s aware of your presence until he speaks.

“So the clumsy thing isn’t just when you’re drunk.” 

You freeze. Your cheeks fill with heat as you slowly look up and make eye contact with a very amused Steve. 

“Morning,” he greets. “I’m making eggs and bacon. Do you like scrambled or over easy?” 

“Uh,” you say eloquently. 

When you don’t reply, Steve chooses for you. “Scrambled it is.” He walks back into the kitchen, calling over this shoulder, “I called the super, by the way. Said he’ll bring a spare key in a little while.” 

You stand up, brushing off invisible dust as you follow him. “A spare key?”

“Yeah, since you were locked out of your apartment.” He glances at you with a teasing smirk. “I’m guessing you don’t remember much, if anything at all.” 

You clear your throat. “That would be a good guess.” 

Steve nods like he expected that response. “You said you couldn’t find your keys, and Wanda wouldn’t let you in,” he explains. 

“Wanda’s out of town,” you reply slowly. 

Steve laughs. “You seemed to forget that last night. You knocked on my door and I couldn’t exactly let you wander around drunk like that.” He quickly adds, “Don’t worry, I slept on the couch.” 

“Yeah, no, um. Thank you, I guess. I mean, not ‘I guess’, just. Thank you.” 

You fidget as Steve grabs a couple plates from his cabinet and serves up breakfast, wondering what you did last night, and how much you’re going to have to apologize. He hands over a fork after you take a seat at his table, sitting opposite of you. 

“Oh, to answer your question from last night, I am.” At your raised brow, silently asking for clarification, he grins. “Single, I mean.” 

Your cheeks flush and you groan, dropping your fork with a clang. You pinch the bridge of your nose as the memory of you asking him if he was single comes back to you, among other things. 

“Oh my god. You saw me in my underwear,” you whisper, horrified. 

Steve laughs, his own cheeks tinting pink. “Can say that was completely unexpected. Did you know you’re impossibly difficult to dress when drunk?” 

“ _God_ , just kill me now,” you beg, burying your face in your hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed. It happens to the best of us,” he tries to soothe. You raise your head to glare at him, unimpressed. “Seriously! We’ve all got bad drunk habits. You should see my friend, Sam, when he’s had a few too many. He’ll serenade anyone who’ll stop to listen.”

That eases a smile on your face and Steve returns it. You sigh heavily. 

“I guess it could’ve been worse,” you say. “I could’ve confessed something life shattering.” 

“Well, you did say you loved me.”

You choke on your eggs, coughing violently and beating on your chest. “I said _what?_ ” 

Steve continues like you didn’t just almost die. “While I do think it’s a bit early on for love confessions, I wouldn’t mind maybe taking you on a date and then we can see if you still feel that way.” He looks at you, a little shy, now.

You don’t say anything until he breaks the eye contact, snapping you out of whatever trance you were in. You’re still clearing your throat a little when you question him, eyes wide. “Wait, what?” 

You made an absolute fool of yourself and he’s somehow still entertaining the idea of you liking him? And he wants to take you on a date? Surely you hit your head last night. There’s no way this is real life.

“I, uh. I’ve kinda had a thing for you for a while now,” he admits, pushing his food around his plate nervously. “I got the feeling maybe you felt the same last night, but if I’m wrong then we can pretend I didn’t say anything.” 

“No!” The word tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it. “I mean, no. I mean—shit.” You breathe in for a second, trying to wrap your head around the situation. “Okay. Rewind, please. You like me? Like, for real?” 

Steve laughs. “I do, yeah.” 

You blink. “I did not see that coming.” 

“So, what do you say? Wanna go on a date with me?” 

He looks so hopeful, it’s painfully endearing. You wouldn’t have said no anyway, but you absolutely can’t say no now. Not with that face. 

“Duh,” you reply, wincing immediately after. “I—yes, yeah. I’d love to,” you correct yourself. 

His smile could literally blind somebody. You find it hard not to share his enthusiasm, smiling giddily.

“One condition, though.” 

“What?” you wonder. 

Steve leans in, dropping his voice conspiratorially. “No alcohol.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! feedback is welcomed and appreciated :)


End file.
